


You Dont Have To Ask

by AugustApollo



Category: Years & Years, Years & Years (Band)
Genre: Band relationship, Emolly, Friendship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustApollo/pseuds/AugustApollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like all the things that Ollie wants but never asks for, Emre offers him to dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Dont Have To Ask

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Emolly story. I love the dynamics between them. The friendship with romantic undertones. I hope this does justice to them both. 
> 
> The song that inspired me to write this is Hosier's cover of "Do I Wanna Know?". It's beautiful. You can listen to it as you read, if you want.

The music was much too loud, and he was probably unattractively yelling at her, but Emre was really into this girl. The brunette before him has a sparkling smile and tinkling laughter that he found so damn cute. He wasn’t funny, but she laughed at his jokes (puns) all the same. He took that as a good sign. 

It was their friends’ wedding, technically, and the band (just Olly) had graciously offered to do a few songs for the ceremony (which Emre doesn’t understand because they don’t do happy songs). They did a few covers alright, and they were free to mingle for the rest of the night. Emre resorted to discarding his jacket and rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbow. They each went their own way, thirsty for some form of separation after long months of living together and seeing each other day in and out on the road. He loved his band mates (but don’t tell them that) but he didn’t miss them just yet, and he didn’t want to see them for a good while, thank you very much. 

Yet, over this lady’s shoulder, he spots Olly’s messy platinum blonde head. He looked like a real angel, with his pale skin, his white hair, and his white baggy suit with shiny accents. He was stunned that he had the nerve to wear white at a wedding, but the bride loves him too much to mind. Everyone loves Olly.

He had this distant look in his eyes where he sees everything and nothing at the same time. Emre stopped hearing what the girl was saying. A slow song had come on. Olly had started tugging at his sleeves. 

“I’m sorry,” Emre cut her off mid-sentence. He was too bothered to know the last thing she had said. He looks at her again and he felt a pang of pain in his chest which told him that to go was a bad idea. “I have to go.”He didn’t wait for her to reply, but the last he saw was her jaw hanging open with confusion. 

If you asked Emre why he was approaching him, he wouldn’t have been able to give an answer. He probably wouldn’t even hear you. He was on auto pilot, like he always is when Olly’s lips were centimeters away from a full frown. He only snaps back to attention once his feet stop directly next to the blonde boy. Olly looks up and his lips reverse into a smile, but it leaves his eyes dull. He almost immediately turns back to the dance floor. Emre pulls up a chair next to him and bumps his knee with his. 

“Why are you here all by your lonesome?” He keeps the tone light. They’re at a party after all. He tilts his beer towards Olly, who takes it without looking. He immediately knows he will hate it, but he always offers him things, and Olly always takes them. He sticks his tongue out as he gags.

“That’s disgusting. Tastes like piss.” Olly hands the bottle back to him. Emre smirks and drains the bottle. “How do you know that?” He wiggles his eyebrows at him as he wipes his mouth. Olly rolls his eyes, but his gaze remains transfixed on the couples dancing. They were in the middle of a romantic song, and room was dreamy with soft lights and hushed voices. 

Emre spares a glance at Olly when he turns to put the empty bottle on the table behind them. The lights were reflected in his eyes. He felt like he was about to say something, but the words hadn’t fully strung together yet. Emre knows to wait. Olly always says it eventually. Sometimes it takes minutes, hours, weeks even. The key is to wait. Emre looks away and leaves him to his thoughts. The song is almost over when Olly finds his voice. 

“I’ve never slow danced.” He chews his lips like he’s scolding himself for not pulling the words back. The skin comes away blushing red. At first, Emre doesn’t really know what to say, doesn’t know if there’s even anything to say.

“Not in school?” He tries to reply casually. This is obviously more important than he tries to let on. There’s a heavy pause that makes him feel stupid for asking. 

“No one wanted to take the gay kid to the school dance, much less dance with him.” Olly shrugs nonchalantly. Emre mentally smacks himself on the forehead. As much as Olly tries to sugarcoat his bullied past, he knows it is a wound that will never heal. It’s more like an infection actually, that festered insecurity, doubt, jealousy, and every dark emotion that is poured into their album. 

“What about your boyfriends?” Olly looks up with glassy eyes. Emre can see him running names and time lines in his mind. He draws a blank.

“You’d be surprised how very few opportunities there are to slow dance.” He smirks, again trying to be casual about it. They both know to leave it at that, so they fall quiet again. The song dies out and another one fades in. Within the first few notes, Emre is on auto pilot again. If you ask him why he did what he did next, the best he can tell you is because he simply wanted to. Because Olly needed him to, even if he never says so. Because Emre can give it to him. He stands up and holds his hand out. 

“Well, come on then.” He watches his trace his figure in confusion. Olly’s eyes slowly trailed from his open hand, draining his wonder over him. By the time he reaches Emre’s face, his gaze is clear with understanding.

“That-that wasn’t my point.” He looks a little lost, and a little hurt. He’s taken the gesture for pity. 

“Unless you’re saving it for something special, I’m right here, right now.” Emre shakes his open hand in front of Olly’s face, urging him to take it. He glares at his fingers as if it was going to rip his face off. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“But I want to.”

“You really don’t.” 

“The song won’t last forever.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“You’ll regret this.” 

“Emre.”

“Stop being so dramatic. We’re at a wedding. Don’t fight me.” Olly gives a dramatic huff and smacks his hand into Emre’s open palm. Emre guides them to the dance floor, spotting an open space in the middle. He feels Olly’s slow trudging figure behind him, radiating fear and uncertainty. He could feel it in his tight grip and labored breathing in dark. He finds them a spot and stops, turning quickly to face Olly, who bumps into him.

People are staring and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Emre stops, and Olly is too entranced by the floor to notice until his lowered head bumps into his shoulder. Emre smirks and raises their lowered hands in the way that people do when they dance. He doesn’t understand why they do this. Olly places his free hand on Emre’s shoulder, extending his arm so they are a good foot apart. The dark-haired boy’s eyes grow wide, and he throws his head back in howling laughter. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He manages to spit out in between chuckles. Olly surveys the trench between them with uncertainty. 

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to be-be-conservative? Respectful?” Emre rolls his eyes at him. He grips the wrist that lies on his shoulder and tosses it over him, firmly drawing Olly closer in one smooth motion. Olly stumbles into his chest. Emre presses a firm hand on the small of his back, steadying him, securing him against his body.

“I wouldn’t have asked you to dance if I wasn’t going to hold you.” Emre said so plainly, like he was talking about the weather. Olly couldn’t help but grin all the same. Thank God he was dancing with Emre, who believes in doing things right the first time.

“Now stop staring at me. Regular people slow dance like this.” His hand trails up his back and over his neck, pulling his face in so that they are cheek to cheek. Olly can feel the smoothness of his newly shaved face, and his soft wavy hair tickling his nose. He subtly nuzzles his face against him, letting the buzz of Emre’s warmth and the vibration of the song’s bass wash over him. 

He feels his joints go weak, and he allows himself to melt against him. He feels Emre sway them easily back and forth, turning in slow circles. He feels his heartbeat pulsating in his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt, beating across his. Olly begins to understand why these dances are so intimate. He feels Emre everywhere, his scent, his heat, his calm heart. 

Olly lazily opens his eyes, and sees the bride wink at him. As they continue their steady revolution, he sees all eyes on them. The acid in his stomach immediately rises to his throat. He may be used to people watching and gawking while he’s onstage playing pop star, but not like this. Not when he is just a guy, not in real life. It takes a moment for the instinctive panic to wash away, fading when he realizes that they aren’t glaring; they’re smiling. 

He feels Emre humming to the music, completely carefree. He feels…he doesn’t know what to feel. He knows about anger, jealousy, betrayal, and pain. So much pain. He spins poetry out of breakups and draws art out of tears. He can put a million words to shattered hearts but he has no words for this. He catches Mikey smiling at them, and he smiles back. 

Peace. The word finally caught up to him. He is at peace. Olly pulls back a fraction, and Emre looks at him with a small grin. He means to say thank you, but Emre shrugs at the unspoken gratitude before the letters even bubble up to his lips. They come together again, easily this time. 

Olly thinks back on his other firsts: first boyfriend, first kiss, first time. They all ended in a fiery explosion that left him with broken pieces of a person and a fragmented memory. But this, he knows he can never regret this. It gives him small relief that at least this first, this piece of him, will always belong to Emre. 

When the song ends, they pull apart and smile. But when another slow song comes on, Olly makes a face that he knew would get him a second dance. He didn’t push it for a third though, and set Emre free. Later that night, he would leave a hazy message with the “thank you” he had meant to say, and something else he can’t quite remember. Emre never mentions it though, as many things pass between them unmentioned anyway. They never needed too many words. But every opportunity for a slow dance that came next, Emre always found him and offered his hand. Olly never fought him on it again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Leave me a comment, I would love to know what you think!


End file.
